


A Way to Go

by hannahindie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Winchester - Freeform, F/M, Sam Angst, Sam Winchester - Freeform, han writes stuff, sam x reader - Freeform, spn fanfic, supernatural fanfiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 16:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16876272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahindie/pseuds/hannahindie
Summary: The reader finds herself on the wrong end of a bullet, and has the sudden realization that maybe she should have told Sam how she felt a long time ago.





	1. Part 1

**“So… I just realized that I’ve been shot.”**

 Well, that was a phrase I never thought I’d utter. I’ve been punched, bitten, clawed, cut, stabbed, and dislocated more times than I can count, but I’ve always avoided getting shot. I’m actually surprised by how painless it is, although this may be what it’s like to be in shock. Do people go into shock that quickly?

 I’m pretty sure that must be it because in all the movies Sam and Dean have made me watch, gut shots were the worst, and right now this definitely doesn’t feel that bad. It’s kind of a warm tingle, like when your foot falls asleep. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion. I’m definitely falling, and I’m pretty sure I’m falling forward, but I can’t tell if my arms are moving and obeying the signals my brain is trying to send them or not. It’s quite likely I’m about to fall on my face.

My knees are the first thing to hit the ground, so there’s a brief moment of relief because instead of falling forward on my face I’m able to twist my body and fall sideways. At least, I _think_ I did that on purpose. It’s kind of hard to feel anything right now, and I’m not sure if I’ll have control over anything from here going forward. Whatever I landed on is rough, but I can’t remember where I am. Why can’t I remember that? Everything is blurry now, and I can see a pair of boots quickly approaching me, the long legs disappearing from my view since I apparently can’t look up anymore. Sam. I know it’s Sam because I can kind of feel his large hand on my back, and I would have recognized Dean’s bowlegs anywhere.

 I hear a gunshot followed by a mumbled “Son of a bitch!” and I try to laugh. It’s less of a laugh and more of a garbled cough, and I can taste something bitter and metallic. Well, shit. I didn’t get punched in the mouth, which means that blood is coming from somewhere else, and I’m here to tell you that that is not a good sign. I can feel Sam’s hands as he rolls me over and desperately applies pressure to my stomach.

 “Y/N, come on, it’s not that bad. You’re gonna be fine. Hang in there, okay?” I blink a couple times, and Sam’s face comes into focus. Oh, Sam. If I’m going to have to die, if I’m going out like this, I have to admit that looking into those kaleidoscope eyes is a hell of a way to go. I can feel my eyebrows furrow, and Sam is looking at me concerned. “Y/N?” The urge to laugh is strong because I know he’s probably thinking I’m having some sort of end of life, important inner dialogue. What I’m actually debating is what color his eyes are today, and I have decided they’re more of a green than blue, with a golden ring around the pupil. Actually, they kind of remind me of sunflowers. Sam Winchester, the boy with the sunflower eyes. I laugh again, and this time I can feel the blood spatter across my face as I exhale a mouthful of that metallic liquid. Well, that’s great. Why is it the only thing I can think about is how unladylike that must have looked? _Priorities_ , Y/N.

 Sam looks sad. He can’t tell that I’m laughing; at this point it just sounds like I’m drowning in my own blood. Let’s be honest, that’s probably what is happening. None of this hurts, and what I can feel is coming and going in waves. I’ve never been this close to death before so I couldn’t tell you if this is the order in which things start to fail, but I’m assuming nothing good comes after this. The only thing that bothers me about this whole situation is that Sam is going to be sad. Not to say Dean won’t be. He’ll blame himself and drink and probably yell at Sam about how “fine” he is and how he “doesn’t need to talk about it”. That’s how Dean deals with things. He’ll be angry, and if he doesn’t get the thing that did this to me right now, he’ll be on a rampage until he does. But Sam…Sam is going to be sad. He’ll want to talk about it, but since Dean won’t, he’ll keep it inside since I’m the only other person he talks to about things. He’ll read, a lot. He might hide in his room and drink, because he’s not as obvious about it as Dean is, and he’ll blame himself just like Dean does. He’s just quieter about it.

I’m getting tired. It’s hard to keep my eyes open, and when they start to slip shut, I feel Sam’s hand on my cheek. I can’t feel much of anything at this point, but somehow I can feel his rough palm as he cups my face and moves the hair from my forehead. I can mostly feel the warmth because this man is like a damn heater, and it’s at this moment that I realize that there’s another thing that bothers me about this. I never got the chance to tell him how I feel about him. It seems silly now, ridiculous even at the end of all things, but I would have really liked to let him know. I wouldn’t have expected anything, hunters can’t with this kind of life, but he deserved to know he was worth it. If I’m checking out, I might as well try to tell him. Nothing to lose, right?

 “Sam…” Did I say that out loud? Judging by the look on Sam’s face, I must have. Okay, here we go. “I love you.”

Sam’s eyebrows jump up in an almost comical fashion, but I’m beyond laughing now. This is serious business, and for once I have to keep myself together. “What?” His voice is barely a whisper.

“I…I love you.” I’ve got to keep my eyes open a little longer. Who knew dying could be so hard? Or exhausting?

“Y/N, I-” Dean decides now would be a good time to interrupt our little dying declaration moment, which I guess is fine. I said my piece, but Sam looks a little put out.

 “Hey, you keep those eyes open. Cas will be here soon, we’ll get you fixed up, right as rain.” I attempt to give Dean a smile, but I think it comes off more like a grimace, and I am pretty sure the blood is making it look like a horror show. No one tells you how unflattering death is. Movies are such bullshit. I shift my gaze from Dean back to Sam. I want to tell him I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have dumped that last confession on him, but it’s too late now. I’m cold, and my eyes are heavy. I think this is it. I can feel my eyes slipping shut, so I look straight into those sunflower eyes. What a way to go.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader gets thrown from memory to memory, reminiscent of the Winchesters' visit to Heaven, only this time, she gets more than just good memories. Her tour guide doesn't exactly help the situation.

Sam and Dean had told me about Heaven. Well, their Heavens, since apparently that’s a thing that differs between people. None of that pearly gate, streets of gold you always hear about, just endless moments filled with their favorite memories. I had never thought about what my Heaven would look like because I never thought it really mattered. I have to admit, after seeing what most of the angels were like and knowing that God had just kind of peaced out on everyone, I stopped thinking about it altogether. So you can imagine my surprise when I found myself standing in the living room of my childhood home. I don’t how to describe it other than it just…was. One minute, I’m looking into Sam’s eyes and the next I’m standing in my old house.

It’s a weird feeling, standing here looking at things I haven’t seen in years. It’s just like I remember it; the floral print couch up against the wall, the worn recliner my dad used to sit in and watch baseball, the rug my mom had bought from a flea market we’d visited on one of our many trips to the local antique malls. There are voices echoing in the kitchen, but they aren’t voices I immediately recognize, so I slowly walk down the hall and towards the sound. 

There are several moments in this house that I would have considered a winner for my own personal Heaven, and I have to say, the scene in front of me is not one of them. John Winchester is leaning against the kitchen sink, and he’s talking to Sam and Dean. Sam looks to be about fourteen, and it hits me what day this is from. Why in the hell would this be my Heaven? None of them have noticed me standing in the doorway, so I’m able to listen in on the conversation that they must have had that day before I had made my appearance.

“Listen, boys, Y/N has been through a lot these past three days. We need to get her to Pastor Jim so that he can do…whatever he does in situations like this. Don’t talk to her about what we do, she doesn’t need to worry about that right now.”

“But what if she asks?” Sam’s voice is quiet and barely audible, and Dean glances over at him, his arms crossed across his chest.

John sighs, “Just….change the subject, son.” I step into the room and I’m not even sure how this works, but the moment my foot hits the linoleum John looks over at me and gives me a sad smile. “How’re you holding up, Y/N?”

I shrug, “I’ve been better.” I walk over and sit next to Sam, and the moment he looks at me I know why this particular memory is the one I walked into. It may have been the day my parents had died, but it was also the day that I met Sam Winchester. 

* * *

The moment that I realize why this day is important, I’m standing in the middle of a clearing instead of the kitchen. Let me tell you, even when you are dead, being zapped from one place to another is pretty disconcerting. My attention is drawn to a cabin partially hidden by half dead pine trees and ivy crawling up one side and across the roof. I can’t help but smile because this memory makes a little more sense. I make my way across the yard, my eyes taking in the brilliant blues and purples of the wildflowers that are scattered across the bright green grass, and I hear the sound of an ax hitting wood. As I round the corner, the source of the sound comes into view. It’s Sam, but it’s sixteen year old Sam, and there is already a large pile of stacked wood off to the side. I almost forgot how small he used to be; this Sam isn’t even as tall as Dean yet and he’s nothing but arms and legs. If I remember correctly, this is the summer that his growth spurt hit, and I can see the beginnings of the muscles he will eventually get as he continues to chop.

This memory is probably one of my favorites. Sam and I are the same age, so when we were younger it was usually just the two of us because Dean was just old enough that he sort of did his own thing. One weekend, Pastor Jim and John had gone on a hunt and left Dean to watch us while they were gone. Sam and I were sixteen, old enough that we didn’t need a babysitter, and none of us had been happy about the situation. Dean had stormed off, and Sam and I decided that we should go off on our own and prove that we could survive without Dean. We had “borrowed” Pastor Jim’s old truck and taken off before Dean could make it back. I can’t remember what had brought us to this cabin, but as soon as I’d seen the clearing full of wildflowers I had begged Sam to stop the car. The best part was he never even questioned it, just smiled quietly, nearly killing me with his dimples, and had pulled into the weed choked driveway.

We had made it four days before John found us. I will never forget the look on his face when he saw the two of us sitting on the porch of that abandoned cabin without a care in the world. I’m not sure if he was more amused or angry, but Dean was furious. I didn’t realize until years later that it was probably because John had laid into him for not keeping a better eye on us. The thing I remember most about it though was watching Sam as he worked outside, his shirt abandoned on the small stoop that came down from the back porch, and how happy he looked. The kitchen window had been open and little did Sam know, I could hear him singing quietly to himself as he stacked the wood and built up the small fire pit we were using to cook dinner.

If you think Sam Winchester is a beautiful man with that silky hair and color changing eyes, you have not lived until you hear him sing. He never noticed that I’d heard him then, and standing here now I can actually hear what it was he was singing that day instead of just the mumbled melody.

_“And all the roads we have to walk are winding, and all the lights that lead us there are blinding.There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don’t know how…Because maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me and after all, you’re my wonderwall…”_

I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging wide open, so I snap it shut. That was the only time I’d ever heard him sing other than when he goofs off with Dean, and I never realized what he was singing that day. It has to be a coincidence, but as I take a step forward and the sound of my foot cracking a dead, dry branch echoes across the clearing, Sam looks up at me and smiles. Maybe it wasn’t coincidence after all. 

* * *

The sound of a door slamming shut is what pulls me out of my reverie and I realize I’ve once again jumped to a different memory. All it takes is seeing the motel sign to immediately throw me into a state of panic. This can’t be Heaven, this isn’t a day I have ever wanted to relive. I’m standing in between the Impala and a giant truck, so I force myself to look around the jacked up truck bed to see who had left the motel room. Sam is heading towards the Impala, and this is the first time I’ve been able to see just how angry he was the day he left.

Thinking back on this particular day, I realize that if I’d had the choice to stay with Pastor Jim instead of going with the Winchesters, I may have just stayed home. The downside to that is that I would not have gotten to see Sam for that last time, and it was years until I got to see him again. I feel a little guilty when I think that maybe it would have been worth it just so that I didn’t have to see the pain etched into his handsome features, or hear the words John had spit out like some kind of poison. I watch Sam as he grabs his bag from the backseat of the Impala and slings it over his shoulder.

“They don’t want me to come back, I won’t. I don’t need to…I don’t want to.” He slams the car door shut with more force than he really needs to, then looks back at the hotel door with…is that longing? “Maybe…maybe I should take Y/N with me…she deserves better. She’s smart…maybe she could go to school, too.” I’m frozen in place and unsure if I’m actually hearing this, because Sam is mumbling and I’m beginning to think I can’t trust my hearing or judgement. He sighs, “She does deserve better…and better is not hanging around with a Winchester.”

He begins to walk away and I finally find my voice, “Sam!” Nothing. Sam keeps walking, his head down and shoulders slumped, and I run after him. “Sam, listen, I’ll go! I’ll go with you!” He continues to walk and never even acknowledges my hand when I put it on his arm. Unlike the other two memories, it’s as if I don’t exist. “Sam…please…” I’m begging him like he can actually hear me, and I can feel tears rolling down my cheeks. Whoever made this Heaven needs to seriously reconsider their day job. Worst. Heaven. Ever.

“Dammit!” I’m yelling at no one, which makes me angrier. I drop to the ground and sit in the gravel lot, my hands in my lap. What is the point in all this? I would have stayed at that cabin, that could have easily been my Heaven, and here I am sitting in a dirty, uncomfortable gravel filled lot-

And now I’m not. The jagged rocks that were cutting into my legs have been replaced by soft grass. I slowly raise my head and immediately groan. This was also not a day I particularly want to relive, although it’s not nearly as traumatizing as the previous one. Stanford’s campus is sprawled out in front of me, and I’m sitting like an idiot in the middle of the main quad area. No one seems to see me as they walk past, thank God. I stand and brush the dirt off my ass and cautiously make my way toward one of the buildings.

I’m not sure if I realized on the day this memory happened why I was so upset when I saw them walking towards me, hand in hand and smiling, but I sure as hell get it now when the scene repeats itself. Sam is walking in my general direction, his hand laced with the blonde girl’s next to him. She’s gorgeous, and I immediately feel that heavy feeling in my stomach, that feeling of not being good enough for my Sammy. They’re both smiling, honest to God smiles, and it hits me that the last time 21 year old me saw that kind of smile on Sam’s face was when we were at that cabin. I remember why I left without talking to him that day; he was happy. He was the happiest I had seen him in a long time, and I didn’t want to be the one to ruin it. Sam had walked away from our life, had left me behind, and I had spent the next eight years trying to pretend that that didn’t bother me.

Sam and Jess walk right past me, and although Sam’s gaze seems to fall where I’m standing, he looks through me just like in the last memory.

“Son of a bitch! What kind of fucking Heaven is this?” I’m sobbing, I can’t help it, and my yells are falling on deaf ears. “I don’t get the point in this. This is bullshit-”

“Y/N.”

The unexpected voice scares the bejesus out of me and I jerk around, “Jesus Christ!”

The man standing behind me smiles and his bright blue eyes crinkle, “Not quite.”

I know I’m dead, and I know that none of what is happening makes sense, but this is ridiculous. “Chuck?”  

“In the flesh. Well…no…in the…you get my point.” I’m aware that staring is rude, but I’m looking at Chuck like he has two heads. All I can think to do is shake my head. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

My eyes widen, and I legitimately feel like I’m going to punch Chuck in the face, “Am I…am I okay? Are you serious? I’m DEAD, Chuck. So I would say I am decidedly _not okay_.” Is he smiling at me? He’s smiling at me. “I’m glad you’re finding some kind of humor in this, someone needs to. Wait, are you dead?” Chuck shouldn’t be here, but if he doesn’t quit smiling I might actually kill him.

Chuck shakes his head, “No, I’m not dead. Although I am the reason you’re here.” Oh, well isn’t that just skippy?

I glare at him, and he flinches slightly. Good. “Would you care to explain why I don’t just get to sit in my own little Heaven and instead I’m being dragged around to some of the worst days of my life?”

Chuck takes a step towards me and something feels…off. This is Chuck, this is the borderline alcoholic prophet that was afraid of everything, but it isn’t. This Chuck feels stronger, more confident. I can feel it radiating from him, and I have to admit, it’s almost scary. “Y/N, we need to talk.” He snaps his fingers and now we’re on the side of the road. Sam is bent over by the ditch, the Impala shielding him from passing cars as Dean stands nearby and watches over him.

“Is Sam okay?” Funny how I’m more concerned about that than I am about being dead.

Chuck nods, “He’ll be fine.” Chuck motions for me to follow, and we walk closer to the car. My gaze slips to the back seat and I immediately stop walking. I have seen some shit in my life, more than I ever want to remember, but there is nothing quite like seeing your dead body laid out on the backseat of your best friend’s car.

“ _Holy shit_.” It comes out almost a whisper, and Chuck looks back at you.

“I’m sure that’s not a huge surprise, right?”

I glare at him, “No, asshole, it’s not. But usually when a person dies, they don’t have to see their corpse after the fact.”

Chuck laughs, “That’s true.” He stops a few feet short of Sam and Dean and holds his hand up to stop me as well. Sam stands and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

Dean pushes off from the hood of the Impala and claps him on the back. “You alright, Sammy?”

Sam shakes his head, and all I want to do is run my fingers through his chestnut hair, like I used to do when we were kids and would sit outside, perched on one of Bobby’s junkers while we watched the sky.

 “No…no, I’m not. I couldn’t save her, Dean. _I was right there_. I was right there, and just like that, she was gone. I can’t fix this. Cas can’t fix this. All I can do now is take her home and burn her body, and I don’t…I don’t know that I can do that.”

Dean sighs, and I can see that he’s just as heartbroken but he’s trying to keep it together for Sam, just like he always does. “We have to. We gotta give her a proper burial, you know that. It’s no different than anyone else-”

“It is different, Dean,” Sam’s voice is almost a growl, and Dean looks up at him, his eyebrows raised. Sam meets Dean’s gaze, and if my heart could race right now, I’m pretty sure it would be beating out of my chest. “It’s different because I…I love her. I don’t think I can watch someone else I love burn.” Sam pushes past Dean and climbs into the Impala without another word. Dean throws one last glance toward the back window, and it hurts to see how tired and broken he looks. The Impala roars off and I’m left standing in the settling dust with Chuck.

I’m angry. It’s bad enough that I am being zapped from one memory to another, but this is too much. I whirl around to face Chuck, “What the hell was that? Huh? I don’t understand how you’re doing this, but if you don’t stop, I swear to God I’m going to kick your ass.”

Chuck laughs. He actually laughs. Is it possible to be going crazy even though you’re dead? Because that is the only explanation for what’s happening right now.

“You can swear to me all you want, you can even kick my ass if you want, but all of this was for a reason.”

Swear to…me? Now I’m even more confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m God, Y/N. And I needed you to see how important you are to the Winchesters. Specifically one.” My mouth is hanging open. Chuck is God? This is bringing up even more emotions, and I have to say, none of them are good.

“Are you kidding me? You’re God? Chuck, the squirrelly little prophet who, let’s be real honest, can barely write a cohesive book, is God? That…that’s a kneeslapper.”

Chuck frowns, “I’m a good writer! I do get a little wordy sometimes, but that’s just…you know what, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to understand why those memories are important.”

I cross my arms and glare at Chuck, “I get the cabin, but was it necessary to throw me into the others? Those were three of the worst days I’ve ever had. Why are those important?”

Chuck smiled, “Because you chose Sam’s happiness over your own. You let him go, even though it hurt you, not once, but twice.”

I can’t help but laugh, “And look where it got us, Chuck! Jess died, and Sam still ended up in this life. So me letting him go? It just prolonged the inevitable. Actually, it probably made it worse.”

“You’re missing the point, Y/N. It doesn’t matter how it ended. It matters that Sam had that choice. The world has always needed Sam and Dean both, but Sam needed a reason to believe that. I wish it could have gone differently for him, but we all have a part to play.”

My arms drop to my sides and I feel my nails digging into my palms as my hands clench into fists, “You knew all that was going to happen…and you just let it because the world needed him? What kind of loving, merciful God are you?” I take a step towards Chuck, but this time he stands his ground. “What about my family? Did they die for this worldly cause too?”

Chuck gave me a sad smile, “Your story did not start until you met the Winchesters. I had to make sure that happened.” My vision tunnels, and even though my goal was to punch Chuck in the throat I find myself on my knees in the dirt.

“You…killed my family because the world needed all of us together?” I feel tears pouring down my face, but I can’t find the strength to wipe them away. Chuck kneels down in front of me, and for a moment the Chuck I know is there, not God, just awkward Chuck. He wipes the tears from my cheek with his thumb, and if this moment wasn’t so awful I would probably laugh at the absurdity.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But there is a reason for everything. Just like there was a reason to show you all of this. Your story began with the Winchesters, and it ends with the Winchesters. Today is just not the day it’s supposed to end.” He smiles at me, and before I can say anything else he puts a finger to my forehead and all I see is white. 

* * *

The first thing I notice is the smooth leather under my fingertips, and how cool it is despite the warmth I can feel coming through the window. Wait…I can feel things. I can feel the vibrations from Baby’s growling engine and every bump that we hit in the road. I twitch my fingers to see if they’ll work, and sure enough I’m able to drum them against the bench seat. It seems I can also wiggle my toes, and then it hits me that I need to breathe. A moment of panic hits when I forget how to for a second, and then I gasp. I scramble up in the seat, my lungs burning, and take in large gulps of air to try to satisfy my body’s need for oxygen. The thing is, I seem to have forgotten that the Winchesters are still under the impression that I’m dead until Dean slams on the brakes and nearly throws me head first into the front seat.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yells as the Impala comes to a screeching stop. Sam and Dean both swivel around to look at me, and I look at them sheepishly and smile.

“Hello, boys.”


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader has to deal with what happened to her, and her and Sam finally have a conversation that was a long time coming.

There is nothing in this world that can prepare you for waking up from what is literally a dead sleep. I’m crouching in the backseat of the Impala, literally perched like some sort of zombie bird, and staring at Sam and Dean like if I move one of them might shoot me. Honestly, I can’t say that Dean isn’t tempted, judging by the look on his face. Sam’s reaction is a cross between excitement and sheer terror, and the only thing that is keeping me from laughing is knowing that I must look like an absolute disgusting disaster. Actually, the more I think about that, the funnier this situation is becoming.

“What the hell?!” Dean speaks up first as I slide myself into a normal sitting position. Sam is still looking at me slack jawed. “You’re…you died, Y/N.”

I look down at myself and realize just how bad the damage is. My shirt is a torn and bloody mess, and if the gaping hole in it is any indication of what my body must have looked like…I can’t even think about it. I glance up in the rear-view to find blood is still smeared all over my face. That’s a real good look. “Well, Dean, you aren’t wrong there, buddy.” I sigh and lean back in the seat. If there’s nothing else to learn about this experience, it’s that coming back from the dead is exhausting. I thought dying was hard. 

“What the hell happened?” It looks like Dean is trying to decide whether he’s relieved, angry, or a combination of the two, and I have no idea how to explain any of this to him. _‘Oh hey, by the way, our little convention-going prophet? Actually God. So maybe next time we see him, dial back the smartassery and threats on his life if he keeps writing.’_  Yea, that will inevitably end horribly, and I am wanting nothing more than to make it home and take a shower before I have to explain any of this.

“Dean, I will explain as well as I can, but can we please just go home first? It’s a long story, and I’m not sure sitting in the middle of the road is the best place to get into it.” He looks at me a moment longer, grunts, then faces forward. Sam is still silent, and my eyes meet his. They still look like sunflowers, and I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to see them as anything else. They’re a little darker now, and the rims are red, and I absolutely hate that it’s because of me. “Sam…” He just looks at me and smiles, then faces forward without a word. Fantastic.

I remember that I still have blood all over my face and sigh. This day is not going as well as I thought it would this morning. At least I’m not dead anymore. 

* * *

“So you’re telling me…that Chuck…is God?” I’m sitting at one of the tables in the library, still covered in gore because Dean couldn’t stand waiting ten minutes when we got home, and he’s pacing back and forth, alternating between his hands being on his hips and gesticulating wildly. Sam, as he has been for the past two hours, is silent. He’s watching me closely, and I’m honestly not sure what he’s thinking. It’s not distrust or shock or whatever other emotions people go through when their family or friends die. I’m thinking I can’t tell because people usually stay dead, and I’m guessing there’s not really an emotional response that accurately describes _‘Oh hey, someone I love just came back from the dead. Sweet._ ’

 “Yes. Chuck is God.”

 “And he just zapped you back?”

 I nod, “Yea, pretty much. I guess he thinks you guys need me.” I laugh, but it’s forced. I don’t think Dean notices, but Sam’s eyebrows knit together. He’s always been able to tell when I’m not giving the whole story, and in this instance I don’t think they need to know the exact details of my Heavens or what Chuck said.

“He didn’t give you an explanation? Just wham bam thank you ma’am, and you’re back in your meat suit?”

I crinkle my nose and frown, “Thanks for the colorful and classy description, Dean, but no. One minute I’m dead and talking to Chuck, the next I’m waking up in the Impala.” I push away from the table and stand up, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. I’m disgusting and dying and then being resurrected is exhausting. Night, boys.” I start to leave when I feel a hand on mine and I look down. Sam’s holding me back, I mean barely, but who’s going to pull themselves away from _that,_ and I give him a gentle smile.

“I’m glad you’re back, Y/N.”

I contemplate just throwing myself at him and telling him everything between stupidly enthusiastic kisses, but instead I squeeze his hand and smile again, “Me too, Moose. Me too.” 

* * *

 I’m standing in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. My injuries are healed, but my clothes still bare all the marks where the injuries were, and I’m beginning to realize why Sam was looking at me so strangely. It’s become apparent that I wasn’t shot just the one time. There are at least two other places with bullet holes, and my clothes are a wreck. I peel off the blood covered layers and throw what is salvageable in the hamper and crank the hot water as far as it will go. I cannot explain how wonderful it feels to step under the scalding stream and wash the blood and dirt out of my hair. The water is swirling red around my feet, and it finally hits me exactly what has happened. And here come the tears.

I’m sobbing so hard that I can’t stand, so I curl up in the corner of the shower and wrap my arms around my waist. I’m not sure what I think that’s going to do other than it kind of feels like I’m holding myself together, and it’s oddly soothing. Everything Chuck told me is bouncing around in my head, and all I can think of is my family and what I lost because he thought I was needed elsewhere. All I can remember is coming home and finding my parents, bloodied and broken, and being trapped in the house for the next three days because the monster that killed them locked me in the closet. I’m not sure to this day why it did what it did, probably just saving me for another meal, but the next thing I remember is John Winchester bursting in to save the day. The door to the closet was flung open and there he stood, blood spattered across his face and a machete raised as if preparing to strike whatever was making the god awful noise in the closet. Instead what he found was a fourteen year old girl covered in her parents blood and sobbing uncontrollably.  My parents deserved better than that, and as much as I loved the Winchesters and Pastor Jim and Bobby…they weren’t my parents. None of this is Sam and Dean’s fault, which is why I don’t want to tell them what Chuck told me, but it’s going to be hard to deal with and I’m not entirely sure how to even try. The wracking sobs have finally slowed down and I’m able to uncurl from my position in the floor and finish washing away the blood and grime I’m covered in.

The bunker is freezing a majority of the time, so once I finish in the shower I rush to my room and hurriedly put on my warmest pajama pants and one of Sam’s flannels that has somehow magically found its way into my dresser. Despite telling Sam and Dean that I was going to bed, I’m wide awake. There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep any time soon, so I settle in and start going through my Netflix queue. I’m about to give up because nothing seems appealing right now when I hear a faint knock on my door, so quiet that I’m not even sure I actually heard anything. I wait for a moment and then I hear it again, that faint knock of someone clearly debating on whether or not they should have knocked in the first place. “Come in!”

The door slowly opens and Sam’s face appears in the small crack between the door and the door frame, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

I shake my head, “Nah. Turns out it’s much harder to sleep after a traumatic experience than I thought. Coming back to life is new territory to me, though. I’m sure you guys are used to it by now.” Sam laughs, and I’m pretty sure it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “Wanna come in?”

Sam comes the rest of the way through the door and quietly shuts it behind him. I pat the open space next to me and he immediately crosses the room and stretches his long frame out beside me. No matter what happens, Sam and I always fall back into our routine. As usual, we stay silent for awhile as he scrolls through Netflix and finally lands on one of our favorite movies and hits play without asking. He doesn’t have to; he knows what my answer will be. We make it about thirty minutes before the silence is broken.

“I thought I lost you.” He whispers it, almost as if he is thinking out loud without realizing it. I glance over at him and he’s looking at me with those puppy dog eyes he gets when he wants something, but this time…this time it’s different. He’s looking at me like this is the first time he’s really seeing me, and my chest aches at how lost he looks. “I was right there, Y/N. I was right next to you and I couldn’t save you. All I could do was watch you die.” His eyes are shining, and I can tell he’s trying his hardest not to cry in front of me. I may have already died today, but this sight alone is going to actually be the thing that kills me.

“Sam, it’s okay. I’m fine, and we’re here together. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” I smile at him, but he is still looking at me like he’s not sure if I’m real or if he’s dreaming this. Alright, it’s time for me to get it together and convince him. I put my hand over his and he looks down as he laces his fingers with mine. “See? I’m here. This is real life, and I’m not going anywhere any time soon.” I feel him sigh, but he doesn’t say anything, just rubs his thumb over the back of my hand like he’s contemplating what to say next. Maybe he needs some more convincing. “You’re my Heaven.”

Well, _that_ was smooth. Was there really no better way for me to say that? Note to self: whenever I need to make a life altering declaration, I need to plan that shit out. At least say something that’s a full on sentence. Sam’s looking at me like I’ve gone crazy, and I can’t say I blame him. I turn to face him more directly and take his other hand. I need him to understand what I’m saying and I’m like 99% sure I can’t get through this again without hyperventilating.

“Do you remember the day we met?” Sam nods. “When I died…that was the first Heaven I went to.” He looks at me in surprise, and I almost laugh out loud. That was my reaction too, buddy.

“Why the hell would that be your Heaven? That was a terrible day, you almost died-” I interrupt him because I’ve already had these epiphanies and I need to get my feelings out before I explode.

“Yea, but you were there. And when I realized that, the memory changed to the cabin.”

Sam smiles, “That seems to be a bit more appropriate.”

I nod, “Yea, and honestly I would have stayed there if I’d had a choice. If I have to be dead, might as well be in the best memory I have.” I pause, unsure of if or how I should proceed. “The next two Heavens…more like memories instead of Heavens, I guess…were of you too. One was the day that you left. The other…” I stop because I don’t know that I can admit that I drove all the way to Stanford to see him, that I had talked myself into telling him how I felt and how much I missed him, or that I had left without saying a word because there was no way in hell I could compare to Jess.

“Y/N? What was the last one?”

I’m biting my lip hard enough to draw blood and I can feel his hands tighten in mine, which is all the encouragement I need.

“It was Stanford. I came to see you…but when I found you, you were with Jess, and I didn’t have the heart to ruin it. You looked so happy, Sam. I hadn’t seen you that happy since the cabin, and Jess…she could give you a life I couldn’t. So I left.”

Sam is frowning, and I look down at where our hands are lying on my lap. I’m not sure where else to look, but for some reason seeing his hands intertwined with mine is soothing so I keep staring at them. Better to stare at them than at Sam’s face as he works out what I just said.

“I don’t understand…why were those your Heavens? Why would me leaving or you choosing to not talk to me be good memories?”

I chuckle, “Great minds think alike, Sam. Those were two of the worst days of my life. Chuck apparently had a good reason for it, although I may have called him an asshole.”

Sam laughs and my heart swells. Another note to self: make sure Sam laughs more often. The sound alone is enough to make me swoon, but that smile…Get it together, Y/N, and keep it in your pants a little longer. The story isn’t finished, and Sam still needs to know where this drawn out explanation is going.

“Of course you called God an asshole. I would expect nothing less.” Sam reaches up and tucks a stray hair behind my ear, and all I can think about is Zombieland. Now I’m in between just jumping him and laughing at the reference, and honestly, self…I’m disappointed by the lack of discipline. “What was his reasoning?”

“That it didn’t matter that those were some of the hardest days I’ve had…they all revolved around you. He told me…he told me that my story didn’t start until I met the Winchesters. Specifically you.” Sam is looking at me, and I honestly can’t tell what he’s thinking. I know what I heard him say when he was by the Impala but love is such a broad term and I don’t want to assume… _and he’s kissing me._

I don’t want to get all corny and cliche, but I’m pretty sure there are fireworks going off. One of his hands is in my hair and the other hand is cupped against my neck and he’s pulling me into him like he’s desperately trying to get as close as he can without fusing into a single person. I won’t lie and say I never thought about what this would be like, and I like to think I have a pretty good imagination, but nothing I have ever come up with even compares to this. His lips are soft and are a stark contrast to the five o’clock shadow he’s been sporting the past couple of days, so it’s this wonderful mixture of smooth and rough that I don’t think I could have ever dreamt up. Despite the messy hunt we’d just gone through he still smells good, and I wonder briefly how he manages to do that until his hands slip down to my hips and I forget what life even means for a second. Before I can react to anything he’s doing, he’s grabbed my waist and lifted me over to where I’m straddling him as he leans back against the headboard. This has all happened within a span of probably thirty seconds, but I swear to God…Chuck…it feels like it takes an eternity for me to comprehend what’s happening. Eventually we both need to breathe, and I pull back for a moment to catch my breath. He leans his forehead against mine, and for the first time in a long time…my heart feels full.

Sam kisses me again, this time just a quick graze, and smiles, “Did Chuck mention that part of the story?”

I shake my head, “Nope, he definitely did not. Although I do appreciate a good plot twist, so maybe that’s why he left it out.”

“It’s not much of a plot twist,” Sam pauses and tucks another strand of hair behind my other ear, “I’ve wanted to do that since I was sixteen years old.” I’m pretty sure my heart just stopped. Despite everything, despite the loss and the heartbreak and the years it’s taken to get here, I feel like I’m finally home. Sam’s looking at me expectantly, and I smile.

“Well, I suppose we should get to work on that next chapter then.”

Sam grins, and before I can say anything else he’s flipped me over onto my back and I’m looking up at him, his sunflower eyes sparkling in the dim light of the lamp. He leans in, and his mouth barely grazes my ear as he whispers, “I think I know where we can start.”


End file.
